


Allure

by Royal_Prussian_Fox



Series: Path Actions [1]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Prologue Spoilers, play the demo so you won't be spoiled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 03:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Prussian_Fox/pseuds/Royal_Prussian_Fox
Summary: Primrose had expected to journey alone.





	Allure

**Author's Note:**

> Help I've fallen into a new fandom and I can't get up
> 
> The demo for Octopath Traveler got me in all the right places. It's been ages since I've seen a good JRPG, and I got the itch to write pretty much immediately.
> 
> Comments always appreciated.

Primrose hadn't meant to stay long. Years of unspeakable indignities, impossible to remember and just as impossible to forget, at the hands of Helgenish — and at last, at long, long last, she had the glimmer of a chance: A map indicating the town of Stillsnow, in the Frostlands. It was frigid. It was clear on the other side of Orsterra. It could not be more different than the town Primrose had (bitterly) called home.

But it was not nothing. So that very night, with only the flimsy cloth around her hips and a bloodstained handkerchief tucked in between her breasts, she departed. She had the narrowest of opportunities, the fleetingest of possibilities, and for that she would have to tread quickly. There could be no stops to sightsee. No conversations about the weather or the harvest. No rest, except for whatever brief moments she had to herself when the road was empty and monsters were absent. Crows were known to fly, after all, and Primrose had waited too long, endured too much, to allow them to fly free. 

And so Primrose hadn't meant to stay long in the pastoral village of Clearbrook. She would go to the provisioner's, purchase a pouch of oats, another of nuts, and perhaps an apple or two, and then be on her way long before the sun reached noon. She would not stay long enough to gaze at water so clear that she could count the rounded pebbles underneath. She would not stay long enough to enjoy the soft breeze as it carried the smell of grass instead of stinging sand. She would not stay any longer than it took the elderly shopkeeper to fuss over her attire and guilelessly ask, "Might you be wanting something a touch warmer, dear?"

Nor would she stay long enough, in such a quiet, wholesome little hamlet, to hear a scream.

"No! Not — Nina!"

"Get ahold of yourself, Zeph!"

Primrose would have turned to look out the window for the source of the commotion if the old woman hadn't already scuttled around from behind the counter and taken up sentry at the store's only window.

"Oh my, oh dear," the shopkeeper muttered to herself, wringing her hands behind her, and it took only another moment for her to disappear outside the door.

Primrose tried to occupy herself by glancing around the store. It had clearly seen better days. Many of the shelves were coated in dust. A patch of sunlight fell onto a warped floorboard — and Primrose was certain that rain was more frequent in Clearbrook than in Sunshade. The thoughts about the man with the mark of the crow came to her, unbidden: where he was now, what he might be doing, whether he might have already lost his patience and moved elsewhere, destroying whatever slim chance she might have at finally avenging her father.

"I'm ever so sorry, dear," the shopkeeper said, tottering back behind the desk. Her mouth was turned down into a frown. She shook her head back and forth, again and again, as though it had come loose.

Primrose responded graciously. "It's no trouble. I hope that everything is all right."

"You and me both," the shopkeeper tittered. The wrinkles around her eyes creased. "It's such a terrible bit of luck. To be bitten by a viper — a girl Nina's age!"

Primrose did not answer.

"Zeph's always said you need to find the snake that's done the biting, but… Surely it wasn't one from the cave to the east? No, no. It can't have been. Something else, it must be. Him and Alfyn are smart boys. They'll figure a cure," the shopkeeper continued, nodding as if to reassure herself, and Primrose watched her hands shake anyway.

Primrose did not answer.

"Why, they must. It would be far too tragic. Alfyn's only lost his mother just last year, and Zeph's parents perished in the pestilence. Nina's the only one either of them have left. And she's just the cutest little thing, always looking out for her brother. I tell you, just the other day the two were here in my shop; Zeph had quite the cough, and she gave him her handkerchief — he'd forgotten his, don't you know —"

Primrose looked down at Yusufa's handkerchief, hidden away where nobody but she could see it, hidden away where it would be closest to her heart.

"Ah, but I'm rambling again," the shopkeeper apologized, and wrung her hands. "I didn't mean to take so much of your time. Is there anything else you might be wanting, dear?"

Primrose stared down at the counter: a pouch of nuts, a pouch of oats, and two apples. Exactly what she had come for. Only what she had time for.

Primrose looked up at the storekeeper.

"How much for the knife?"

* * *

"Wait, wait!"

Primrose ignored the voice, even if it did sound the faintest bit familiar. She had only just passed another traveler on the road — he was likely the voice's target. What could there be to want with a woman with no family and no name, and little more of anything else? Moreover, she had heard tales of bandits roaming the Cliftlands. She could not afford to lose her life now, not when she was so close to finally seeing vengeance meted out.

"Miss? Ma'am! Er. Miss Ma'am?"

Primrose stopped. She turned. Down the road she had just come on was a vaguely familiar young man running toward her — or trying, at any rate. His back was slumped with a sack of tremendous size, the entire thing clattering and clamoring with every step. She could barely see the worn satchel slung over his shoulder underneath, as the man staggered up to her, panting for breath, and even as Primrose watched, the man readjusted the sack he was carrying and the multitude of objects inside issued a jumble of echoing clanks that surely alerted his presence to any living thing within a mile.

Well, at least he wasn't a bandit.

"Oh, boy!" the man announced, heaving a deep breath and doing his best to stand upright. "I was worried I'd never make it in time. You sure move quicker than a field mouse runnin' from a brushfire."

Primrose said nothing.

"But I'm real glad I found ya. I was hoping I could meet you again, at least once."

Primrose stared at him. She had seen many men's faces while she handed away her dignity to anyone with a piece of silver to give. They were merchants and farmers, craftsmen and guardsmen, and no matter what they looked like during the day, at night their faces were all the same. This man must be another — must be, because all men were; must be, except that she had seen him nearly throw his own life away for the life of a young girl.

"I recall now," Primrose said. "You're the man — from Clearbrook."

"You bet. Alfyn the apothecary, best in all the Riverlands, at your service," he said, with an exaggerated bow. His pack jangled.

Primrose regarded him cautiously. "I see. What business do you have?"

"Hold on just a tick, ya hear? Now, where did I…" He leaned down, rifling through his satchel, a speck compared to the massive backpack hoisted above him, and after many moments of rummaging, he finally retrieved a carefully folded cloth and held it out to her triumphantly.

"This is yours, ain't it?"

Primrose stared at his outstretched hand, holding a handkerchief, a speck of blood mottling its center. She gasped, and instinctively reached for it and placed it back where it belonged. The man looked away.

"How did you come by this?" she wondered aloud.

"You left it behind in that snake pit," the man answered, eyes steadfastly fixed on the cliff face to her left. He briefly glanced back in Primrose's direction, and seeing that her hands were back at her sides, returned his gaze to her face. "I figured it was real important to ya, seeing as most folks toss 'em soon as they see a bit of something nasty."

"You are right — this handkerchief is very important to me," Primrose said. "You have my thanks, Alfyn."

He shook his head. "Shucks. Ain't no big deal."

Primrose smiled. "Regardless, I am grateful. Best of regards to you," she told him, and turned to leave.

The by-now familiar clattering of an oversized bag stops her. "Wait, miss — er —"

"Primrose."

"Miss Primrose," he announced, seriously. "I never had the chance to say thanks for what you did."

Primrose paused. "Think nothing of it."

Alfyn crossed his arms and shook his head. "Naw, don't go saying that. If you hadn't come by when you did, that viper would've been the last thing I ever saw, and that's a scary thought.

"I can tell you ain't from Clearbrook, and there ain't a thing wrong with that. World's a big place, after all. But you have to know — us country bumpkins don't got much. All we got is other country bumpkins. And Zeph's got even less than most, 'cause all he's got is Nina and me. So if he lost both of us on the same day, well…" Alfyn trailed off, letting the words hang in the air, and Primrose knew enough of tragedy and revenge to know how such a story might end.

"Anyhow, just saying thanks don't feel enough."

Primrose shook her head. "I only did what my conscience bade me do."

Alfyn broke into a wry smile. "I'm just a simple country boy, Miss Primrose. You can't use highfalutin' words like that and expect me to understand."

"Then I will only say that no thanks is necessary," Primrose said, a smile tugging at her lips, and because Primrose had never had much opportunity to practice keeping smiles hidden, she was certain it showed on her face. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Alfyn. Perhaps our paths will cross again, someday."

Primrose inclined her head in farewell, then turned and continued down the path through the Cliftlands.

The sound of jangling followed her.

She turned in spite of herself: Alfyn still stood there.

"Is there something else?" Primrose said, through an impatient frown. She could not afford to delay much longer.

"Nope," Alfyn answered, coming up alongside her. "We're only headed in the same direction, that's all. We can go together, if you like."

"Where are you traveling to?"

Alfyn shrugged. "Dunno. I've never been out of Clearbrook, so wherever you're going seems like a pretty good start."

Primrose raised an eyebrow. "You intend to follow me?"

"Sure, if you'll allow it," Alfyn nodded, re-hoisting the sack back over his shoulders after briefly allowing it to slide down.

"I've already said that no thanks is necessary," Primrose rebuked him.

"You don't understand. This is something I want to do," he said. "I spent all my life in Clearbrook. That's fine, such as it is. But there's a world full of people out there, and a lot of 'em are hurting. If there's something I can do to help, I want to do it."

Primrose gazed at him sadly. "That is a noble wish. It would be best accomplished without me."

"Begging your pardon, Miss Primrose, but I can decide that for myself."

"I journey to kill a man," Primrose stated, voice unwavering even as she said the words aloud for the first time; and unsure as to whether she was more surprised by that fact, or that Alfyn merely raised his eyebrows for a flicker of a second in response. "I do not mind sullying my own hands — it is something I decided on long ago. But you are young, yet, and have a full life of your own. This is the path I have chosen. I advise you not to follow," she finished, and turned on her heel.

The sound of jangling erupted again — and by now, Primrose really should have expected that.

"Well, that's sure a lot to swallow," Alfyn said, matching her pace for pace, even with the clattering pile of miscellany affixed to his back. "And I feel a bit mixed up about it, myself. But I'm in no position to tell you what to do. I can tell it's something you've given lots of thought to, and you must have a good reason for wanting to do it."

"How can you possibly claim to know such a thing?" Primrose said bitterly.

"It's clear as Clearbrook water, ain't it?" Alfyn said, stopping to look at her incredulously. "Here you are, coming in out of nowhere to Clearbrook. And you clearly got a goal in mind, something that's real important to ya. You could've just skipped town, and nobody would've held it against you. But you heard a girl was in trouble. So you stayed."

Primrose stared at him.

"And 'cause of you, three lives got saved that day — me, Nina, and Zeph," Alfyn said, counting off on his fingers. He shook his head again. "That kinda person — that kinda person has a good heart, no matter what else they say."

Primrose turned her gaze down to where she kept her keepsake from Yusufa, the only memento remaining from the last time someone had insisted on helping her.

"I know you better than you think, Prim. And I know that, deep down, you have a good heart," Yusufa had said, with a knowing smile, a kind smile, a smile that deserved more than dancing on a stage for only the hoots of men and a knife through her throat.

"I will not — cannot — have you as an accomplice," Primrose said.

"That's fine. I expect I wouldn't be much good at it," Alfyn answered easily. "But until that time comes, suppose we could travel together? The walking's faster with two people taking on monsters, and you got someone to keep lookout when we're resting. Not to mention I make a mean rabbit rotisserie, if I do say so myself."

"…Only until we reach Flamesgrace," Primrose finally said. "Then we go our separate ways."

"That's fine with me, Miss Primrose," Alfyn said.

"Simply Primrose is fine."

"Sure thing, Miss Primrose. We better get a move on, though. I don't want to be caught in the Cliftlands at night. I ain't too eager to get robbed."

Primrose watched Alfyn and his pack jangle and clamor their way down the path ahead of her, his pack bouncing with his every step. She could not remember the last time she had traveled with someone — the last time she had anyone to travel with. Half of her felt the urge to turn around and leave Alfyn behind.

The other half of her stepped forward: down the dusty cliffside road, and only just behind Alfyn’s clamoring silhouette.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap, I can't believe I kept this under 5k words.
> 
> ...Guess that means I have to write more Octopath Traveler fic. Oh boy, what a tragedy, truly.


End file.
